


Sleeping Village

by dracox_serdriel



Series: Another Chance at the Brass Ring, or Season 9 Fan Fiction [5]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: African Dream Root, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Aphonia, Bunker Fic, Canon-Typical Violence, Case Fic, Destiel - Freeform, Divination, Dream Leaping, Dreams and Nightmares, Established Castiel/Dean Winchester, Friendly Freaks, Gen, Graphic Description of Sleep Paraylsis, Hunter History Lesson, Lover's Quarrel, M/M, Men of Letters, Message from the Beyond, Mild Language, Monster mash, Mora, Murder Most Foul, Prayer, Saved by the Hacker, Season/Series 09, Slash, Sudden Death, baku, sleep paralysis, suffocation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-18
Updated: 2013-04-18
Packaged: 2017-12-23 05:40:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/922653
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dracox_serdriel/pseuds/dracox_serdriel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Moneta, Wyoming is hit with an epidemic of vivid nightmares that leave their victims mute. Dean wrestles with the fall out from the previous week, and Charlie upgrades the Men of Letters Bunker with Castiel's aid.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Feel at Ease

**Author's Note:**

> **Spoilers** : Through episode 08x20 Pac-Man Fever

**Moneta, Wyoming**. Arnold Webster closed the storybook and stood up from his son's bed. "Time for lights out," he whispered. 

"Don't," his son Jake said, "please don't."

"There's nothing to be scared of," Arnold said quietly. "I'll be right over in the next room, okay?"

"But what about the monster under the bed?" Jake pleaded. 

Arnold slowly leaned down and peeked under the bed. Looking back up to his son, he said, "There's nothing there."

"You sure?"

"Absolutely."

With that, he planted a kiss on his son's forehead and turned out the lights. 

Arnold went to the bathroom to finish his own bedtime ritual. He washed his face, trimmed his nails, and rinsed his mouth before heading to his own room. 

The minutes ticked by as he finished reading reports from work. The baby monitor set up in Jake's room relayed the reassuring sound of his son's breathing. 

By midnight, Arnold was burnt out. He turned off his own light and curled up under the covers. Normally, he slept on his side, but ever since he turned thirty, his back had been flaring up, forcing him to sleep supine. After only a moderate amount of tossing and turning, he fell asleep.

Something was very wrong. He could feel it. Though sleep weighed heavily on him, Arnold forced his eyes opened. His clock read 3:23 AM. He blinked. 

He couldn't hear his son breathing on the monitor. He must be awake, maybe out of his room. Arnold moved to get out of bed –

He couldn't.

He darted his eyes around the room, on the off chance that maybe he was in a bad dream. He wasn't. He was awake, in his own bed, paralyzed. Completely. His heart started to beat rapidly, panic cut his breath short. 

Then he saw something move. Normally he would assume it was Jake, but this time, somehow, he knew it wasn't his son. Whoever was in his room, that's why he couldn't move. And just as he knew his heart was beating too fast, he knew that whoever, or whatever, it was was evil, dangerous –

A shadow moved. Pressure built up on his chest, and his breath crushed against his throat, like it was being pressed out of him. His eyes went wide when he saw what was sitting on him.

The creature, for indeed that was the only word that suited it, looked like a human skull atop a stone gargoyles. Scales covered it entirely; even its eyes glowed dimly from under them. 

It moved, and Arnold saw how hollow it looked. Its body, its limbs, were all extremely thin, as if the creature was emaciated. 

The pain in his chest pitched; its talons dug into his stomach and chest. It leaned over him, and no amount of desperation allowed him to even struggle. The paralysis robbed him of his agency, and the creature robbed him of his breath. 

The talons on its hands, or front feet, reached out to his face. Sounds reared up. Was it laughing?

The baby monitor, as if switched back on, carried the sound of Jake's voice. "Daddy? Dad!" he cried. 

Ever fiber of Arnold's being weighed him down, but with his son in danger, he couldn't just let this thing stop him. With what little breath he had left, he heaved up his hand.

As if waking from a nightmare, the entire world erupted around him. The monster let out some kind of howl before fleeing, as if running from flame, and his body suddenly snapped awake. He felt heavy, and he ached, but he could move again. 

Arnold sat up just as Jake ran into the room. 

"It's trying to get you, Dad!" he cried, climbing up on his bed. 

That's all, Arnold thought to himself. His son had had a nightmare and probably woke up yelling like he had for the past month and a half. His brain must've made up a bad dream to reflect what he heard. 

Taking his son into his arms, he said – 

Nothing. He couldn't speak. He coughed, as if his sudden inability to articulate came from sleepiness. But nothing he did allowed his voice to come out of his mouth. 

"Dad?" his son said. "What's wrong?"

He shook his head. "Nothing," he mouthed, trying to actually say the word but failing. 

He slid his hand under his nightshirt. He felt foolish. Of course there weren't scratches there, it had been a dream – 

But when lifted up his shirt, there were red welts. Not scratches, but raised red lines, right were the talons of the creature had been. 

Not sure what else to do, he picked up his room phone and dialed 911.

 

Sam sat in the middle of the war room, surrounded by dozens of books. In spite of Dean's protests, he had made a long-needed supply run to Mega Office Supplies Depot and purchased book clips, stands, and a number of other new toys that allowed him to digitalize everything. This had made the war room especially ridiculous in terms of order. Each table now had its own function and tools laid out and ready.

Tezcatlipoca. The trouble wasn't his ability to see the future, or the tribute of human hearts, or even his long-standing mythic history as a deity of, well, pretty much everything in Mesoamerica. The problem was that no one had written much about him in the recent centuries. The Spanish forced many of the narratives from native Mesoamerica to go underground or vanish post-Conquest, when following the wrong religion would get you dead. 

Sam couldn't find any hunters's journals that listed encounters with him. He couldn't find anything on spells or witchcraft or anything that could summon him, but he had been summoned in Colorado two weeks ago. The only book he had about the ancient god at all was the book Dean had stolen from the guy who summoned him. 

Frustrated, he sat back and felt the crick in his neck go. 

"You seem less than pleased," Castiel said. 

This made Sam jump. Whatever anyone could say about him, the angel definitely had stealth. 

"I didn't mean to startle you," he added. 

"No, it's not you, I'm just – frustrated," Sam said. "I can't find anything about Tezcatlipoca later than the sixteen hundreds."

"Have you tried his epithets?" Cas inquired. 

"No," Sam said. "Wait, what epithets?"

"The people who followed him believed that invoking his name was dangerous."

"You mean like saying 'Voldemort'?" Sam asked unabashed. 

Cas tilted his head and furrowed his brow. "I have no idea."

"So you think maybe hunters used his epithets?" Sam asked, "Because they were afraid to use his name?"

"I don't know," the angel continued. "But from what I remember, Tezcatlipoca began as a shaman-trickster." When Sam's bleary eyes didn't light up with realization, Castiel added, "He's very intelligent. Cunning. He knew that the most dangerous thing against him was knowledge. Like how you and Dean utilize aliases in each town."

"So, you think he used different names to prevent people from keeping tabs?" Sam asked.

"Something like that, I suppose."

"Do you know any of these epithets?" 

"I know of over a dozen, I can make a list," the angel said happily. 

"Great. There's pen and paper over there." The truth was, he was grateful for help, but the idea of looking through everything again with a dozen new names taxed him. 

Cas turned and found the paper indicated. Next to it were a series of file folders labeled with names. Jo Harvelle, Ellen Harvelle, Ash (Dr. Badass), Bobby Singer, John Winchester, Adam Milligan, Gordon Walker, Rufus Turner, Daniel Elkins, Garth Fitzgerald IV, James Frampton, Samuel Colt, Bela Tabot, Tamara and Isaac, Margaret and Donald Stark, Dick Roman, Samuel Campbell, Mary Campbell... 

The pile was enormous. Cas turned back to Sam, "What is all this?"

Sam swallowed. "The Men of Letters kept tabs on everyone involved in this world. Not just hunters and witches and monsters and demons. Since they haven't been around in a while, there was no one to keep up the records."

"So now you are?" Cas asked. His insides squirmed uncomfortably as he realized most of the people listed were dead. "It must be difficult, writing about them all."

"No," Sam responded. "I mean, I guess it does, but... it feels right, you know? They deserve to be remembered. Even people like Samuel or Gordon Walker. They might've gone wrong at the end, but they did a lot of good. They won't be going down in the history books as anything other than criminals. I think it's fair that there's somewhere that remembers them right."

Cas considered this idea and nodded. "I would like to help you with this."

"That'd be great, Cas." 

There were a few moments of silence as Cas scribbled down the other names used for Tezcatlipoca. After he handed Sam the list, he waited a few minutes before speaking again. 

He asked, "Would it be all right if I write about some of my brothers and sisters?"

This shocked sam. Cas had mentioned the other angels from time to time. He had expressed remorse for fighting with them, disappointment in them, but he never really spoke about them. 

Cas took Sam's silence for rejection. "You're probably right, there's no need to add – "

" – no, Cas," Sam cut him off. "I think that's a great idea."

"You do?"

"I'm just surprised. You've never really mentioned them like that before, that's all." Realizing he needed more of an explanation, he added, "Writing about the other angels, Cas, that's... amazing. Above and beyond."

"You want to remember your family, the good and the bad," Cas replied. "It would be good to have a place for my family, too." 

Sam heard the remorse in his voice. He repeated, "It's above and beyond, Cas, it really is," Sam spoke as kindly as he could. "And your help on it would be great."

Sam moved on to working on Tezcatlipoca's alternative identities as Cas started a list of angel names.

Dean waited in the kitchen, drinking soda. He'd been there for over thirty minutes, listening to the nerd love-fest bubbling out of the war room, and he couldn't bring himself to join it. 

He wanted to hunt down Tezcatlipoca and stab him in the junk. After what that douchebag pulled, he had to deal with Sam's bitching and Cas's bitching for a week. Sam was pissed Dean didn't want to fight for his life. Cas was pissed Dean only opened up because he thought his death was eminent. And Dean, Dean hated himself for letting it happen at all.

Sam and Cas acted like all Dean had to do was change his mind, as if he was just reaching for the mustard and all he had to do was grab the ketchup instead. If that was true, why the hell was it so difficult for him? He didn't want to be braced for inevitable loss or betrayal, but it's not like they're labeled packages in the fridge. He can't just veer left and pick "Happiness" or "Faith" over "Insecurity" or "Fear."

Dean finished his soda and tossed it into the sink. Cas had broken Sam's wall, pushing him back into the memories of being tortured for eons in hell. It nearly killed him, yet now he sat with the angel and spoke about deeply personal crap, like it never even happened. While Dean appreciated his brother getting along with his partner, he didn't understand how Sam just did shit like that.

It occurred to him that he could ask Garth. After all, he managed to bypass a spectre in spite of all the crap in his life. As soon as Dean thought about it, though, he hated it. Listening to Garth as the "New Bobby" was one thing, but getting life advice from him? No.

Was that one of the things he was supposed to change? Was he supposed to talk to talk to Garth, who might be helpful, even when the idea made him want to puke from his eye sockets? Dean hated the fact that he was still thinking about this crap, and he hated the fact that he didn't know the answer to any of his own questions. 

Then something occurred to him. Charlie. She knew a lot about relationships. She had a real life, and she was dating, well, a non-human human-esque entity. The idea of talking to Charlie didn't make Dean cringe. Maybe because she's a chick? She's definitely not as annoying as Garth, but Dean didn't know. 

He pulled out his cell phone and dialed Charlie. 

"What up?" came her voice over the phone. 

"Charlie, it's me," he replied. "Listen, uh, we – "

His resolve broke.

" – need some help with security," Dean continued. "Like, computer crap kind of stuff. Setting up secure lines... that kind of thing." Everything he said was true. Sam had given him some long technobable talk about it only the other day. 

"Sounds like my kinda thing," she said happily. "You know, you've got great timing. I could use a place to crash for a few days."

Dean replied, "That doesn't sound good."

"Ah, it's not bad," Charlie replied. "Just need a change of scenery. LARP crap. Work crap, you know? Could use a break."

"I get it," Dean said, not really all that sure. "When could you be at the bunker?"

"Give me a few hours," she replied happily. "You got a room I can crash in for a few days?"

"Sure do, see you soon Charlie," Dean said before he hung up. 

He just invited someone to stay at the Bunker for days without asking anyone else. Was he going to get hell for that? He didn't know. Why didn't he just say, "I need relationship advice?" He didn't know.

"Screw this," Dean muttered to himself as he went out to the war room.


	2. Cockerel's Cry

Sam and Cas sat in the war room, with books all around them. Dean approached slowly before clearing his throat.

"What's up?" Sam asked. 

"You know all that crap you were saying the other day about security and internet?" Dean prompted. 

"You mean how we need to secure the bunker from modern infiltration techniques?" Sam replied bristling at his brother's thick-headedness. 

"Yeah, right, well, Charlie's heading this way to help us out with that," Dean continued. "She said she'd need to crash here."

"You just invited her here and didn't bother asking if it would be okay?" 

"She can take one of the empty rooms," Dean managed to keep his cool. "And you said it was important."

Sam wanted to continue the conversation, but he realized it wasn't worth it. "All right, thanks for calling her." He immediately returned to his writing.

"Right." Dean wasn't sure how to react as his brothers evasiveness. "Cas, ten minutes till combat training, okay?"

"I'll meet you there," Cas said, his head also in a book. 

Dean stomped off into the room they set up for close quarter combat. Sam worked with Cas on Judo and other mixed martial arts on occasion, but he spent most of his time in the war room reading, writing, and filing. So Dean had been trying to teach the angel as much as he could remember.

He started setting up the room, and before long, Cas entered dressed in his sweats. 

"Dean?" Cas said. 

"Hey, right on time," Dean said, "we're working on guard and mount today. When you're pinned under someone, you might need to maneuver out from under them."

Cas titled his head, "I don't think I've ever seen you or Sam do that. Usually you just grab something and hit or stab the perpetrator."

Dean hitched a smile. "Yeah, that works too, but only if there's something nearby to grab. You can't rely on that. And, since you've got angel-strength, you might be able to pull this off with, well, anything."

He'd pulled out the large mat. Dean indicated Cas lie on his back. "You want to get your knees between you and me, that'll help with leverage. You'll get more with feet," Dean explained. 

"What if I can't get my knees between you and me?" Cas asked.

"I know two moves you could pull that'll get you out of that, but let's start with the basics," Dean replied.

 

Sam was alone, finally. He enjoyed Cas's help, but Dean hadn't been keen on Dodge's offer for supernatural assists. Bringing Cas in on them didn't seem like a smart move.

Sam opened the e-mail he specifically set up for his chats with the FBI Agent. Dodge wasn't kidding when she said she had tons of cases. Most of them were not supernatural, but how could Sam blame her? Anything remotely weird, insidious, or oddball could be supernatural, and even hunters mistook cases that were perpetrated by particularly crazed humans from time to time.

Of the sixty new items in his inbox, only one caught Sam's eye: APHONIA (NIGHTMARE-INDUCED). This hit home with Sam because of Dean's recent nightmare fiasco.

He opened the e-mail. Four people in Moneta, Wyoming reported loss of speech. No pathogens were found, and the only continuity among the victims was the experience of a vivid, and painful, nightmare right before losing the ability to speak. 

Sam pulled up the web and checked for other events in the same city. He found one odd death, a woman named Keara Snodgrass, who died in her bed of asphyxiation. 

His phone rang. It was Charlie. He picked up, "You here Charlie? Okay, I'll be right out to let you in."

Quickly, he replied to Dodge's e-mail to confirm he'd be looking into the case, and he attached the report on the dead woman to keep her in the loop. 

Charlie seemed off to Sam, and it took him a moment to realize she was limping. 

"What happened?" he asked. 

"Oh, there was a mishap with an orc mace and an elder staff during a training mission," Charlie explained. "Actually made a new formal rule for game play," she added, and Sam understood she was talking about LARPing.

"Well, hope it's not too bad," Sam said apologetically. 

"I'm fine," she said. "Where's Dean?"

"Training Cas," Sam replied. 

"What?"

"Come on," Sam led her back to the combat training room.

Sam immediately regretted this, as Dean and Cas were training ground defense. Wrestling on the ground in sweats amped up the normal sexual tension they secreted to a homoerotic level Sam really didn't want to experience. 

"Hey, Dean!" Charlie yelled. As if on cue, Cas and Dean both looked up at Sam and Charlie in the doorway. 

"Hey Charlie," Dean greeted. Then he said, "Cas, you mind?" Cas had him pinned.

"Sorry," the angel said, letting Dean get up. 

"You've met Cas?" 

"He was dying at the time, but yeah," Charlie said. "Nice to see you again."

"I don't remember," Cas apologized. "But hello, Charlie."

 

Dean set Charlie up in a room, slightly annoyed that Sam didn't bother to help.

"So, you and Cas?" Charlie said. 

"Sam and I are training him – "

" – no, I mean, you're dating. You are dating him, right?" Charlie said quickly.

"Yeah," Dean replied uncertainly. He wanted to ask Charlie about relationships, for advice, but his brain didn't let him think up anything more to say.

"Sorry, didn't mean to, you know, kick anything up," she commented. 

"Oh, no, it's just been a rough week."

"Tell me about it," she sported her injuries. "Hairline fracture, bruises, the whole works," she said.

"LARPing is a dangerous game," Dean replied sagely. "You know, I'll ask Cas to fix you up."

"Huh?"

"He's an angel, he can heal you," Dean said.

"Oh, right," she replied. "Last time I saw him he was half-pulverized, so ya know."

"You need anything else?" he asked, having made her bed with new sheets and set up a few 'creature comforts' like a humidifier and alarm clock for her. 

"Well, I might need to order some more stuff," she said, "because this place is bigger than I thought, but I can set up the prelim and leave Sam a wiki on adding the rest."

"What are you planning on adding?" Dean asked.

"The US Marshalls have special phones that make their signal ping between towers," she said. "I'm going to be adding something that kicks that in the ass, as far as your phones are concerned. And that's got nothing on the internet security I've got... oh, and video cameras, of course."

"Video cameras?" 

"For outside the bunker, and whatever." 

"You're awesome," Dean said simply.

"I know."

"Look, I feel bad about this, but Sam found a case," Dean said. "And we're heading out on it in a few hours."

Charlie looked scared when she asked, "I'm going to be here by myself?"

"No, Cas'll be here," Dean offered.

"Oh, good," she said. "Large spaces, alone's never really worked well for me. Don't worry about it. I mean, it's a case, right? People's lives?"

"We shouldn't be gone long," Dean continued apologetically. "Do me a favor, don't leave till we get back?"

"You kidding?" she smiled. "You've gotta give me the life updates."

"Thanks, Charlie."

 

Sam wanted to take his new pickup truck on the case, but Dean insisted on taking the Impala. He had to bargain to get his brother to agree, so he ended up riding shotgun most of the way to Moneta.

"How did you catch this case?" Dean asked. "I mean, this seems like a CDC thing, not a – "

"People losing their voices after having nightmares?" Sam said. "That's not the CDC, that's the X-Files."

"Nightmares," Dean said. "You think this is like my thing?"

Sam hadn't expected Dean to be that direct. "I don't know. The reports I found wanted to make it out to be some kind of laryngitis, and they didn't come right out and say nightmare."

"Awesome."

For the next two hours, they traveled in huffy silence. 

Sam finally ventured the question, "Are you and Cas okay?"

"We're fine."

"Seems like ever since I got back from the case in Colorado, you've been weird around each other," Sam said. "And not in a good way."

"Sammy, com'on."

"I know I gave you a hard time about it."

"You think?"

"But it's because, you've done this before," Sam went on. "Last year when you told me you were doing the trials, it was a suicide mission for you. I thought, now that you're with Cas, you'd be open to the idea that life has more to offer you than a bloody death."

"That's not – " Dean held himself back. Then he didn't. "Screw you."

"Screw me?"

"You can't just, draw a freaking parallel like that and act like it's the same damn thing. It's not."

"How is it different?"

"I thought I had a deadline, a literal one. I didn't leave because I've accepted my fate or any of that crap. I left because I wanted to spend my time being happy. Not fighting. Not being beaten. Not being elbow deep in blood and guts and monsters. That's how."

Dean turned his face toward the window.

"I'm sorry," Sam said. Dean didn't acknowledge it.

 

"Keara Snodgrass," Dillian Prateek, the local coroner, presented. 

Her eyes were wide in terror.

"She was found like this?" Sam asked.

"Normally I would close the eyes," the coroner replied, "but I, uh, thought it might be important for you to see."

"What can you tell us?"

"She died of asphyxiation, but there are no indications as to why."

"What does that mean?" Dean asked.

"Well, there are no toxins or drugs of any kind in her system," Prateek said. "No crushing injuries, wounds of any kind, and no reason for paralysis, neurological or otherwise."

"So a healthy woman suffocated with her lungs, diaphragm, and brain still working," Sam confirmed.

"Pretty much. I've got to be honest with you, if this was some kind of illness or murder, it scares the shit out of me."

"Noted," Dean said.

 

"Okay, this could be a case," Dean admitted heading back to the car. "What's next?"

"We should talk to the last vic that didn't die, named Arnold Webster."

Dean got into the driver's seat. "You have any idea what the hell this is?"

"Besides nasty? No, not yet," Sam replied. 

"I need you to be honest with me," Dean said as he pulled the car out of the parking lot. 

"Okay," Sam said. Sinking feeling in his stomach, he felt like Dean cottoned on to his working relationship with Dodge.

"Did you find this case because of my nightmares?" Dean asked.

"Well, no, but," Sam shrugged. "It caught my eye, yeah, because of your nightmares."

"You think someone's doing something to me?" 

"I don't know, Dean and that's what bothers me. Seems like every time we're on a case, you get at least one." This sunk into Sam's brain and clicked, "You ever have one at the Bunker?"

"Don't start that."

"That's not what I mean. Have you ever had one of those nightmares in the Bunker? Ever?"

Dean thought about it and replied, "No. So what?"

"The Bunker is impenetrable except for the key," Sam thought out loud. "Maybe you're protected at the Bunker."

"That would be valid, if someone was causing them, which they aren't," Dean dismissed, "so it's not."

"Whatever you say."

 

Jake peeked in on his father and the two FBI Agents (Roberts and Trujillo) who were speaking in the living room. His father had a pen and paper with him.

"Mr. Webster," Sam asked, "you said you had a nightmare right before you woke up, unable to speak?"

Arnold wrote, "Yes. Fever."

"You had a fever?" Dean asked.

He wrote, "Probably."

"So you think this was an illness?" Sam questioned.

"What else?" he scribbled.

"Could you describe the nightmare for us, Mr. Webster?" Dean asked this time. 

"Why?"

Sam said, "Look, you are the fourth person to go through this. We're trying to make it stop. Sometimes that means looking at things usually dismissed." 

"Doc said sleep paralysis," Arnold wrote. He continue to scribble, "Couldn't move. Hard to breath."

"Did you see anything?" Dean inquired.

"Dreamed."

"Could you be more specific?" Sam asked.

Arnold shook his head. 

"Could I use your bathroom?" Sam asked having spotted Jake.

Arnold nodded. Dean looked pissed that Sam was leaving him there.

Sam rounded the corner and almost immediately bumped into Jake. He looked terrified. 

"What's wrong?" Sam asked. 

"My dad won't tell you, but he was attacked by a monster."

"Really?"

"Yeah, me, too," he said. "Dad doesn't want me to be scared. But it happened."

"Huh," Sam said. "What did it look like?"

"It had tusks, and a trunk, and was really big," Jake replied. 

"Can you show me where you saw it?"

Jake nodded and bolted up the stairs. Sam followed him, EMF reader in hand. The boy had run into his own room and pointed next to his bed. 

"Right there," he said. "Before it ran out of the room."

Sam saw the EMF meter flicker. "It ran into your dad's room?"

Jake nodded, then asked, "What's that?"

Sam lied quickly, "Your dad says there're no such things as monsters, right?"

Jake nodded again, "But I saw one."

"Well, for the most part, your dad is right. And this tells me if there's anything monster-like in your house."

"Whatsitsay?" Jake chirped out, slightly scared. 

"I know you're telling the truth, but whatever it is, it's gone now."

"Yousure?" Jake's words collided when he was upset.

"Positive."

"Your gonna get it, right? Stop it?" Jake asked.

"That's my job."

"Take this," Jake handed him a drawing. "You can make a wanted poster."

"Thank you, uh – "

"Jake."

"Jake. And if you don't mind, maybe you can keep this conversation from your dad?"

Jake nodded vigorously.

 

Sam set himself up in the motel room while Dean went on a food run. He pulled out his phone and took a picture of the child's drawing. The creature had the general shape of a wild boar, and it had tusks and a long, elephant-like trunk. Sam couldn't be sure, because a child had drawn it, if the creature had big ears or a lion's mane. Whatever it was, though, had bright, evil-looking eyes. 

He dialed out to Cas. 

"Hello?" came the angel's voice on the other line.

"Hey, Cas, it's Sam."

"Hello, Sam."

"I was wondering if you could look something up for me," Sam said. "A kid drew a picture of the monster he saw. I swear, I've seen something like this before, but I can't remember what it is."

"If I could see the picture that would be helpful," Cas replied.

"Okay, I'm sending you a photo of it by cell phone. You ready?"

"I suppose."

A full minute passed before Sam asked, "You get it Cas?"

"Someone needs to teach me how to use this device," the angel said, the annoyance in his voice pitching. 

In the background, Sam heard, "Hey, I can do that." It was Charlie. He listened as a hilarious conversation ensued between the hacker/hunter and the angel, which included Cas's confusion at Charlie's pop-culture- and jargon-filled lexicon.

"Okay, I see it now," Cas said. "You're right, it is familiar."

"You know what it is?"

"A baku," Charlie said. "A traditional-style one."

"A what?" Sam asked.

"They protect children by eating nightmares," the angel explained.

"They're real?" Charlie asked.

"My father allotted them the special job of devouring nightmares after the first Baku – " Cas began.

" – your father?" Charlie asked.

"Guys," Sam interrupted. "People are losing their voices and dying out here, so..."

"Children?" the angel asked.

"No, adults only, so far," Sam said.

"Why would the Baku steal voices?" Charlie asked.

"They don't," Cas commented. "They're benevolent towards all except nightmares."

"Well, we've got a rouge Baku then," Sam said. "Or Bakus, even."

"It's Baku," Charlie corrected. "Plural and singular."

"Glad we cleared that up," Sam muttered.

"It's more likely someone is trying to control a Baku," Cas stated. "Rouge Baku simply stop eating nightmares because that alone inflicts harm."

"Okay, then, how do we capture or kill it?" Sam asked.

"You can only do it on the same plane as the Baku," the angel replied.

"You gotta fill me in on that stuff later," Charlie said to Cas. 

"What plane?" 

"In a state of dreaming," Cas replied. "You'd have to find some way to drag it into this plane to kill it."

"You can't kill it in a dream?" Sam asked.

"If that were true, then you could simply kill a person in a dream," Cas said. "And the human race would die out immediately."

"Uh, okay. I'll take that as a no," Sam said.

"I'll find a way to bring a Baku across planes," Cas said, "but you two will need to pinpoint its location."

"What?"

"Usually they'll have their own location, their own neighborhood, some of them have their own towns," the angel explained. "You need to get within range of the Baku to find it."

"How?"

Cas replied, "I have no idea. I've never needed to look for one before."

"Great, uh, thanks Cas. Call me back when you know more."

"Goodbye, Sam," Cas said. Sam heard Charlie's voice cry, "Bye Sam!"

 

When Dean returned with dinner, Sam was marking up a town map. 

"You have something?" Dean asked. 

"That depends, does this look like a pattern to you?" 

"Uh...looks like a smiley face," Dean quipped. 

It happened to be true. The five houses hit covered three neighborhoods. Three houses were in a rough curb, and the two others were above. 

"Okay, so, you're trying to figure out where it's going. Do you know what it is?"

"Charlie and Cas told me it's a Baku."

"Sorry, Charlie and Cas?" Dean asked. 

"Oh yeah, great conversation," Sam replied sarcastically. "We need to get within range of it, fall asleep, then drag its ass into this plane, according to them."

"Fall asleep?"

"Baku eat nightmares," Sam replied. "Cas thinks this one is on a leash."

"Someone put a nightmare-eating elephant-lion on a leash?" Dean asked. "Why the hell is it stealing voices?"

"I dunno. Maybe it's not, maybe it's trying to kill and taking a voice is just a byproduct."

"You mean, when it fails to kill," Dean said. Sam shrugged. "Awesome."

After a few minutes, during which Dean pulled out his bacon cheeseburger, he suddenly remembered, "We can take that Dream Root tea crap."

"What?"

"We figure out who's next on snuffleupagus's hit list," Dean explained, "then we take some of that tea that lets you get into someone else's dream. We hop a ride, grab the sucker and kill it."

"We can't kill it," Sam explained, "not on that plane. We need to bring it here. Anyway, what if someone does have it on a leash?"

"You think it'll just, what, tell us?"

"Wouldn't you be pissed off if someone tried to make you their bitch?"

"Good point," Dean nodded. 

"And I'm drinking the tea," Sam said.

"Huh?"

"The African Dream Root," Sam continued. "We should be able to make the tea, like we did on the case with Bobby a few years ago, but I'm drinking it. One of us needs to stay here in case things go sideways."

"You think I can't handle it?" Dean asked.

"No, I think if I go into a comma, you'll start kicking the asses of anything and everything to wake me up," Sam replied. 

"So you're saying, what, you wouldn't do that for me?" Dean leaned into the words, daring his brother to own up to his crap. 

"I'm saying I trust you to get me out, come hell or high water." 

"Okay, but before we grow ovaries here," Dean deflected, "we gotta make sure we've got everything for that tea."


	3. Red Sun Rising

Sam whipped up the concoction needed for the Dream Root tea with little trouble. "We still need hair," he reminded Dean. 

"Well, till we know more about how this dude strikes, we won't be able to," Dean remarked. "Look, I'm calling it, okay?"

"Right, okay," Sam said. 

Dean used the bathroom and crawled into bed.

Sam disappeared into the bathroom, looking for Dean's comb. Feeling like a total creeper, he took some of his brother's hair. Maybe they couldn't grab Baku-gone-ganker tonight, but he could investigate Dean's nightmares.

Ever since it occurred to him that the Bunker protected Dean from whatever sent him nightmares, it kept nagging him. If someone, or something, was giving Dean nightmares, then there must be a reason, and probably not for the benefit of his health. Dean's suspicious, that the angels were doing it to track down Castiel, didn't make a lot of sense to Sam. 

So, after stealing his brother's hair, Sam planned on breaking into his dreams. Creepy, yes. Likely to piss him off? Definitely. Necessary? Without Cas here to drop in on Dean's dreams, absolutely. 

Resolve in his mind, Sam mixed a part of the tea, careful only to use a portion of it so as to have enough for the case. Then he, too, fell asleep.

 

Dean cooked in the kitchen of the bunker, flipping pancakes. He had an apron and boxers on, because, well, why the hell not? 

Next came eggs, bacon, and pie. Three different kinds of pie. 

"Cas, Sam, breakfast!" Dean yelled, a paternal ring in his voice.

Sam walked in, his hair messy and his eyes tired. "Thanks, Dean."

"Cas?" Dean called again.

The angel stumbled in. At first Sam thought Cas was sleepy, but then he remembered that angels don't sleep. And that's when he saw the blood dripping from his back.

"R-ru-run!" Cas managed to yell. "Go!"

"No, Cas!" The panic in Dean's voice made Sam's stomach drop. "Cas!" He cradled the angel in his arms, bleeding on the kitchen floor. "You'll be find, you'll heal," Dean comforted him.

"No, he won't," Crowley's voice was soft. He appeared across the table from Sam. "Hello boys."

"Crowley!" Sam yelled. "You're dead!"

"Sorry, no, as you can see, I'm very much alive," he pulled out an angel blade. "And I'm here collecting good on some old dues."

Crowley made to stab Sam, who easily side-stepped the attack and struggled with him, grabbing for the angel blade. Dean didn't move from the kitchen floor. The room lit up white hot, then it all stopped. Cas's body lay across Dean's lap, his winds spread out and burned across the room and even Dean himself.

"Cas," Dean whispered weakly.

Crowley, or Dream-Crowley, fought dirty. He poked Sam in the eye and stabbed him in the arm. With a bit of luck, Sam pushed the demon away and kept hold of the angel blade. With a single, quick, brutal movement, Sam stabbed through Crowley's neck. 

Dean didn't move from the floor. 

"Dean," Sam said. "This is just a dream, Cas is home and he's fine."

"What?"

"You're dreaming, having a nightmare," Sam repeated.

Before Dean could respond, a voice filled the room. "This is what they have planned, Dean, you understand? You hear me? You need to hear me, brother. You need to know. Please, Dean."

The voice repeated these words with its long drawl growing each time. But no one appeared. 

"A dream?" Dean asked, ready to believe it. He'd heard that voice before. "Then how the hell are you here?"

Sam looked away from his brother. "Dream Tea."

"Seriously, Sammy?"

"Yell at me in the real world, Dean, okay? Wake up."

They both snapped awake. 

"What the hell, Sam?" Dean roared. "Seriously? You dream-jacked me?"

He got up and started pacing, "Haven't we had conversations about personal-fucking-space?"

"Dean, your nightmares, someone or something is doing this to you," Sam said. "I took the potion to make sure Evil Snuffleupagus didn't hammer it in, okay?"

"And you didn't think mentioning that or asking was something you should do?"

Sam looked away. "That voice sounded familiar."

"Don't change the subject."

"I'm telling you, whatever's happening to you, it's a case," Sam said. "Which means your personal space is irrelevant because saving your life is more important."

"Damnit, Sam," Dean griped. "I can't – I can't do this, okay?"

"Okay, fine, let's put a pin in it for now."

"A pin?"

"Yeah."

"What're you, a fifty-year-old-woman?"

"Shut up."

 

Sam woke up to Dean's prodding. 

"What?"

"There was another one," Dean said. "Last night. Crime scene is still fresh. Com'on."

After his morning cleanup routine, Sam grabbed the keys. His brother promptly swatted them out of his hands.

"You agreed to let me drive half the time," Sam argued.

"I did, then you dream-jacked me, you asshole," Dean snarled. "So I'm driving. Let's go."

Not willing to fight anymore, Sam nodded in agreement and walked out to the car. 

The police were still on the scene when Sam and Dean arrived. 

"Agents Roberts and Trujillo," Dean barked at the officer in uniform. 

"Detective Onyx is questioning the wife," the officer said after checking their badges. "The coroner hasn't picked up the body yet, he's still upstairs."

"You join the coroner," Dean ordered Sam. "I'll join Detective Onyx."

Dillian Prateek stood dumbfounded over the body. He nearly jumped when Sam entered the room and said, "Prateek."

"Sorry to see you again," Prateek responded. "I mean, that there's another one."

"This definitely the same thing?"

"Can't be sure till I get him back to the morgue, but look."

Prateek pointed to the man's eyes, wide with terror and bloodshot. "I can't rule out a possible murder yet," he said. "The other victim didn't have red eyes at all. Could be petechial hemorrhage, which would indicate suffocation."

"You mean, with a pillow?"

"Again, I can't be sure until I get him back to the morgue. There's also this," he lifted up the victim's shirt. 

Welt marks covered his abdomen and chest. They had a roughly four-talon shape to them.

"Are those claw marks?" Sam asked.

"Look like. Welts like this can be made by human nails, cat scratches, whips... pretty much anything. The other victim didn't have them."

"Uh, did the other victim have a husband, boyfriend, partner, anyone else in the house the night she died?"

"I don't think so. She'd been dead a full day before she was found."

"Any chance she had these marks and they disappeared before you got to her?"

Prateek shot Sam an inquisitive look. "Agent, when the body dies, it doesn't keep healing itself, you understand that, right?"

"Right, of course. I need copies of the crime scene photos, especially of this." Sam indicated the markings on his body. 

"Sure," Prateek replied glumly. 

Meanwhile, Dean found himself next to a tall, medium-built Detective named Onyx. 

"Agent Roberts," Dean said by way of greeting. "Can I join you?"

"Absolutely," Onyx replied. "Name's Ted Onyx."

"Hi."

"This is Mrs. Emily Goodheart," he continued. "Her husband Frederick died unexpectedly early in the morning."

Emily's face was red and blotched with tears. Used tissues crowded around her; the tissue box was nearly empty.

"I'm very sorry about your loss, Mrs. Goodheart," Dean began sympathetically. 

"I've already done routine questions," Onyx said to Dean. "You want to – "

Dean cut him off, " – thank you, but this won't take long."

Detective Onyx nodded. "Compare notes later?"

"If you don't want to stay," Dean said as Emily blew her heart out into another tissue.

"I'm gonna find you some more," Onyx said kindly to her, indicating the tissue box. 

"Tank yuh," she said in a stuffy voice.

When Onyx disappeared, Dean started, "What can you tell me about what happened?"

Almost immediately, he wished he'd taken the stiff and sent Sam the Sympathetic on this one. 

"Wah... we went tah bed last night anhhd," she continued stuffily. "Everhy thingh was fined. But when I woke up, he... he lookhed terrifihed."

"You mean, standing up, running around, scared?"

"Noh," she said, "he wahs inh behd, lyin' thereh, eyes wide an'... he stared up andh it was like, h-he saw somethinh. Andh I could tell, he tried tah, tah sayh somethingh to me. But he couldn't speak."

"So he was just, lying in bed, looking terrified? Like he saw something?"

Emily sobbed and nodded vigorously. 

"Did you see anything?"

She shook her head, no, as she wiped her nose.

"Your husband is the second person to die, Mrs. Goodheart," he began. "So I need to know, did you see anything, anything out of the ordinary?"

Her red, tear-filled eyes looked up at Dean, scared and inquisitive. "Likeh whaht?"

Pulling out the child's drawing, he showed it to her. "Like this maybe?"

"Noh," she said. "Whaht's dat?"

"One of the other victims, his kid saw this," Dean said. "I get if you don't want to sound crazy, Mrs. Goodheart. I do. That guy, he's alive, but won't tell us what happened. If he had, maybe we coulda figured out what the hell is going on and stopped it. So, please, think hard, did you see anything, anything at all like this?"

Uncertainty in her voice replaced the thick sound of her tears, "If I could helph yuh, Agent, I wud."

Dean had an inkling she was holding back, but before he could push more Onyx came back with a new box of tissues. So he tucked away the kid's Baku drawing and pulled out his business card.

"If you think of anything else," he said handing his card to her, "even if you think it's not important, call me, okay?"

She nodded quietly before sinking into another sob fest.

 

"Anything?" Dean asked Sam when he finally came out to the car.

Sam held up a lock of Mrs. Goodheart's hair. "Got it from her brush."

"Uh, why?"

"I think this thing might be coming for her next," Sam replied. 

"Any particular reason?"

"No, just a feeling," Sam admitted, "but without a pattern, a good guess is all we have."

"Right," Dean sounded stiff. He pulled out of the driveway.

"You wanna talk about it, Dean?" Sam asked.

"About what?"

"About what's going on with you."

"So you can ignore what I say and be pissed off at me? No thanks."

With almost too much sensibility, Sam commented, "That's fair."

Dean grimaced. "What?"

"You're right. You were honest with me, and in return, I pulled a fast one on you without giving you the heads up."

"What're you saying?"

"I'm saying, you're right, Dean," Sam replied. "And I am sorry."

"Right," Dean muttered, still angry.

"But you should tell Cas."

"Really Sam? Now you're giving me relationship advice?"

"He cares," Sam stated simply. "But he and I, we didn't understand what you were saying before. What you said yesterday to me in the car, you should tell him that."

Dean didn't reply.

 

Lunchtime rolled around before Sam got a call from Cas.

"I found out how to bring a Baku into this world," the angel said. "And you, uh, don't need to be asleep to do it."

"You don't?" Sam asked.

"No, there's a summoning spell. And you'll need a fishing net with a Shinto blessing to capture it."

"Any blessing in particular?"

"Of course, Charlie said she would mail you the words," Cas replied. Sam assumed the angel meant e-mail, since mailing would take two days at least.

"What about the summoning spell?" 

"You have a pen and paper?" 

"Yeah, sure, go ahead."

As Cas rattled off instructions and a dozen ingredients to what sounded like a soup recipe, Dean pulled up his chair. 

"Supply run?" he asked. Sam nodded.

"Thanks, Cas, and tell Charlie we said hello," Sam hung up. 

"Okay, so one of us needs to get a fishing net and get someone to bless it... the other needs to find a place that sells real hoodoo."

"I'll take the fishing net," Dean said happily. "What's the blessing?"

"Shinto, hold on, Charlie e-mailed it to me."

Sam pulled up his e-mail. Out of habit, he opened his e-mail specifically for communications with Dodge. Dean caught a glimpse of it. Luckily, Dodge's e-mail and name were listed as "Wonder of the World."

"You got a girlfriend there, Sammy?" Dean teased.

"Wrong e-mail account, hold on," he said, quickly exiting the browser. "Charlie has my real e-mail."

Dean cottoned on to this and asked, "So now you have a fake e-mail set up?" 

Sam took a breath. "For hunters we've bumped into but don't really know."

"Like who?"

"Garth's contacts," Sam said dismissively. 

"Huh," Dean decided to let it go when he saw Charlie's message. He leaned over Sam to read it. "Needs to be done at dusk by a Shinto priest. You think they have any of those in Wyoming?"

"We need that and a real hoodoo store."

"All right, then, we'd better look."

 

As it transpires, Yellowstone National Park attracted many kinds of people. Shinto priests and real hoodoo stores were not as scarce as the brothers thought they'd be. By nightfall, they had the makings of the summoning spell and the blessed net. 

"So we, what, summon him, then throw this over him?" Dean asked.

"Maybe we should set up a trap," Sam suggested.

They rigged it up in the center of their motel room after pushing the beds to opposite corners. 

"All right, let's make it happen," Dean said. "What's the spell?"

"All we do is drop this in the circle we drew," Sam held up a small bottle he'd filled with the summoning ingredients. 

"No magic words?"

Sam shook his head. "You ready?"

Dean held tight to the drop cord on the net and nodded.

Smash! The glass bottle hit almost the exact center of the circle. 

Nothing happened. The brothers stood awkwardly waiting, but five minutes passed and nothing. 

"You sure there's no magic spell?" Dean asked.

"Here Baku! Baku! Baku!" Sam called, as if calling a pet dog. "Here Baku!"

"Seriously, that's your play?"

Dean hadn't let go of the drop rope, which was a good thing, as the Baku appeared with a POP!

For some reason, Sam had expected it to be small, like the size of a large dog. Unfortunately, a better comparison would be with an elephant.

"Dean!" 

Dean let go and the net fell, pinning down the oddly docile-looking beast.

"What's going on?" the Baku asked. 

"Why're you killing people?" Dean asked.

The Baku turned its head, malice in its eyes. "That's why I'm here, you think I'm killing people?"

"Let's just say, you've been spotted," Sam replied.

"Of course I have, I've been..." the Baku shook its entire body. "What have you done to me?"

"Listen you douchebag," Dean started, "you're trapped in this net and not dead because we were told someone might have you on a leash, you understand? So start talking!"

The Baku roared. "I am not killing anyone, I'm protecting them! And now you've called me here, another person is dead!"

"Come again?" Sam asked.

"Baku do not kill people," the Baku flourished. "Now you've trapped me here, that thing will take another victim."

"What thing?"

"I don't know what it is," the Baku stomped its feet in frustration. "All I know is that it's terrifying, too strong for me to destroy, so it's not a nightmare."

The stomping brought Sam's eyes down to its feet. Baku, or at least this Baku, don't have talons; instead, they have heavy, elephant-like feet. 

"I think it's telling the truth," Sam offered. 

"She," the Baku corrected. 

"Seriously?" Dean said. "You're willing to believe the giant monster on this one?"

"Not all monsters are evil," she grunted. "And my name is Ahanah. And I am telling you the truth. Please, let me go so I can try to save that poor woman. If I'm not already too late."


	4. Peace of Mind

"No way," Dean said, "you can't be serious."

"Dean, the thing that killed Goodheart left talon marks on his chest and stomach. Do you see any talons?"

"Well, no."

"That's because I'm not hurting anyone," Ahanah said. "Let me go!"

"Not until you tell us what's going on," Dean said. 

"If I knew, I would happily tell you," she continued. "Baku protect humanity, and this thing, whatever it is, it does nothing but destroy."

Sam pulled out a knife and cut open the net, shushing Dean's avid protests. The Baku bowed to Sam, then disappeared.

"Fantastic! You just let it go kill someone else," Dean shouted. "What are you thinking?"

"I'm thinking, the Baku isn't doing this," Sam replied. 

"Didn't we agree like last week, there's never two crazy things going on at one time?"

"Maybe," Sam replied, "but I believe her."

"But I don't!"

 

"I'd love to ask, Cas, but Sam cut the damn thing loose!" Dean shouted into the phone. A few moments later he said, "Sorry I didn't mean to yell, I'm just frustrated."

Sam picked up in the sudden change in tone and wondered if Cas had told Dean off. He was impressed. 

He pulled up research on sudden death in sleep, loss of breath, and loss of voice. Part of him felt stupid for not having done this earlier, as he immediately found that they were dealing with a Mora.

"Can we talk about this when I get back?" Dean asked Cas through the phone. 

Sam motioned to Dean to pass him the phone. 

"Sam wants to speak to you," Dean said glumly, handing his brother the phone. 

" – Dean, you can't just pass me off to – "

" – Cas, it's Sam."

"Hi, Sam."

"What do you know about Mora?" Sam asked. 

"They're evil. They steal the breath of life from people while they sleep. Those who survive the experience qualify it as terrifying," the angel responded. 

"So, do their attacks steal people's voices?"

"Not successful ones."

"I mean, could that happen, if they almost killed the person but failed?"

"I suppose, yes, that could happen, but they look nothing like Baku," Castiel continued. "They're humanoid and have scales and talons."

"Talons?" Sam said. 

"Yes."

"Okay, Cas, how do we kill one?"

"I have no idea," Cas admitted. "But Dean said you caught a Baku – "

"She's been driving the damn thing off, Cas," Sam cut him off by accident. "Look, we need to find this thing and kill it, so if you can think of anything, please."

"I will look into it immediately," Cas said. Then he hung up. 

"Seriously, Sam, you believe the elephant in the room?" Dean yelled. "You just let it go, just like that?"

"Because the evidence didn't line up."

"Evidence? Really?" Dean turned his head. "That's what you're going with?"

"Are you listening to yourself?"

"Are you?"

"Dean!"

"Sam, you can't just choose like that," Dean scoffed. "You can just say, 'Hey, I decided this monster isn't guilty' and let it go. She could've told us what it looked like, what it – "

" – I already know what it is," Sam cut him off. "So calm down and get your crap together, okay?"

Dean sat down on his bed seethed.

"It's one," Sam said. "Maybe we should call it?"

"Fine," Dean snapped.

 

"So, gotta ask, why are you here?" Charlie spoke to Cas.

"Is that a metaphysical question?"

"No, I mean, instead of out on the case? I can handle being here by myself, I don't need company."

Cas tilted his head. "I'm not suppose to leave unless necessary until I've done more training," he explained.

"But I thought you were a bad-ass angel?"

"I am an angel," he replied.

"Then couldn't they use your help?"

Cas wasn't sure how to respond. He decided to try one of Dean's lines, "It's complicated."

He pulled another book on monsters out and opened to its entry on the Mora.

"What the frack is a Mora?" Charlie asked, peering over his shoulder.

"Bad news."

"So, you're dating Dean?" Charlie asked non-sequitur-style.

"We are involved in a romantic relationship, yes," Cas responded. 

"Can I ask, how is it going?"

For some reason, Cas felt unguarded around Charlie. Something about her made him think he could speak openly without condemnation. "I find his inability to conceptualize and communicated his emotions frustrating. He finds my lack of cultural background and limited social skills obtuse and difficult. Right now I am annoyed that he is unable to openly speak to me unless he believes he is about to die or is otherwise compromised."

Charlie wasn't sure if the angel was versed in sarcasm. The monotone of his voice, coupled with his inelegant and concise explanation, made his response sound false.

"Are you being serious?" 

"Yes," he replied.

"Well, that's all normal stuff," she dismissed. "I'm talking about the whole angel/human thing. Does that get in the way?"

Cas's confused look made her add, "I'm dating a fairy, and right now it's great. I guess I'm just wondering if it, you know, could work out."

"You said my complaints were normal."

"I did," Charlie felt awkward. 

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, if you were both human, that'd stuff would still happen," she said. "That's just, normal couple stuff."

Cas suddenly had hundreds of questions for this woman who just validated his relationship. "You mean normal for two men?"

She laughed. "I date women, and that crap happens to us, too. And from my brief stint trying to date boys back in high school, it's all the same."

"So you're saying the reason for the conflicts in my relationship with Dean has nothing to do with me being an angel? Or in a male body?"

Charlie wondered if she was talking to a five year old. "Correct."

"You're concerned your relationship with another species might become complicated beyond normal relationship stuff?" Cas asked, trying to mimic her expressions.

"Well, I feel better now," she said. "You've known Dean longer than I've known Gilda. If you two are making it work, why not me?"

"You think our relationship is working?" Cas asked.

"You're happy," she said. "I can tell. He's happy. Even with what you said, you're happy."

"I am," he said it as if it were a surprise.

"That means you'll work it out with Dean, right?" she asked. 

"Yes, it does."

"Okay, so it's working."

Cas found himself feeling guilty over the last few conversations he'd had with Dean. He emphasized Dean's inability to communicate, and while it was true, he wondered if he had been too harsh on his hunter. 

Pulling another non sequitur, Charlie said, "What're we looking for again?"

"Uh," Cas had to think. "How to kill a Mora."

 

Dean didn't sleep that night. He tossed and turned and finally gave up around four when he decided to take a walk to clear his head. Whatever the stupid nightmares were, they didn't screw with his head near as much as Sam did with his damn dream-jacking.

The motel's parking lot was large enough for a decent walk, so Dean circled back. As he strolled, he looked up to the stars, and found himself thinking about what Cas told him.

"In my true form, I am one thousand and fifty feet tall, by human reckoning. I have one head with four faces: human, ox, eagle, and lion. I have six wings, although only two are used for flying. Down my back, along my sides, there are..." he struggled to find the right word, "...whiskers, that's the closest physiological equivalent. Except they're much more like arms, capable of grabbing, carrying, and the like. But my real arms, they're much larger, and they have hands, each with five fingers. Pigmentation is very different for angels, in the heavenly plane. Humans describe it as pure white, blinding. The truth is the human optic nerve cannot process what color my true form holds, which is comprised of light, similar to how the sun works, I suppose, but my body doesn't hemorrhage energy nor will it implode. My skin, well, it's not actually skin, but it's similar, is the density of osmium but lighter than helium, down to my prehensile tail. My eyes burn blue. They used to be."

Dean swallowed hard when he remembered what Castiel had said next.

"When I gulped down all those souls from Purgatory, it changed me. Physically, I mean. Of course in other ways, but... Death said I was a mutated angel when he saw me. He was right. Now my eyes are dark, brown maybe? They don't burn anymore. And my non-flying wings no longer have feathers as they once did. My fingers are different... my hands and arms, are, too. It's difficult to explain. My tail is no longer like a dove's. Now it's more like a fox's. Unfortunately, all of this does little to answer your question, what I look like. I wish I could just show you. But this plane only has three dimensions, so my form could never be adequately represented here. Only rough comparisons and allegory that probably make me sound ugly and terrifying."

Nothing Castiel described sounded ugly or terrifying to Dean. He'd told Cas as much, but now, as he looked up at the stars, he realized the angel's true form would reach up like a skyscraper. What's someone like that, someone as amazing as Cas was, doing with him? Dean couldn't even sleep right, which most people just did naturally. It's a biological function. It hit Dean that his relationship with Cas was modulated by a vessel, a human body. He couldn't lay eyes on his partner without them burning out of his head. Beyond that, Dean was human. He would grow old and die in the best of circumstances. What, did he even have fifty more years left in him? But Castiel had lived for thousands, hundreds of thousands, billions of years, even. 

Dean Winchester had seen wonderful and terrible things. He'd been to hell, purgatory, and heaven alike. Yet only Cas had ever made Dean feel in awe of anything. Had he really missed all that for five years?

What was the solution to Dean's fleeting, blip of a life to Castiel? Were he to fall, he'd be giving up everything he had been for eons to live a short, bloody life in a vessel. And then what? Dean had died enough times to know what was next. But did angels have souls that passed to heaven, hell, or otherwise when they died? What about fallen angels who became human? Not knowing bothered him. That wasn't fair to Cas, and all it did was make Dean feel vindictive and petty.

"So," Dean whispered up to the stars, "Uh, God, I guess. Got any advice for a human in love with an angel?"

The only response was silence. "Me neither," he whispered. "Thought it couldn't hurt to check."

The sun was rising. Had he really been out here that long? He couldn't remember, and he felt like he'd been drugged. Did he just stand outside and pray for advice? Was he really counting the years he had left with Castiel? What the hell was going on?

"Dean?" Sam had come out of the room. "What're you doing?"

"Just clearing my head," he said. "Couldn't sleep."

"I got another call, or, well you did, but I answered," he said. "Mrs. Goodheart is dead. And another was attacked last night, no voice now."

"Damn it," Dean cursed, heading back into the motel.

 

"Got an e-mail from Charlie," Sam said as his phone pinged. "She and Cas found a spell to kill the Mara. Sort of."

"Sort of?"

"Well, we can't kill it in – "

"The stupid dream plane, right."

"So we have to pull it into this plane and kill it."

"How?"

"As soon as it's here, we can kill it like anything else, but..."

"Why is there always a but?"

"It's covered in tough scales, so we need machetes. And, we can't summon it... we have to attract it, then pull it into this plane."

"Attract it? With what? Axe Body Spray?"

"The Mara attacks people who are sleeping," Sam said. "And we can induce the state of sleep it attacks in with a tea similar to the dream hopping one. If we do it during the day, we'd be like chum."

"Unfortunately, we'd also be unconscious," Dean pointed out. "So it's just one of as bait."

"Okay, I'll – "

"No, Sam, it's gotta be me."

"Dean, I – "

" – Sam, you've already jacked into my dreams this week. Drinking that crap too much screws with your brain. So I'll be the chum, you cast the spell and gank the creepy crawly. Okay?"

"All right, I guess."

 

Inducing a state of REM paralysis, when the Mara attacks, involved a particularly bitter drink that Dean had to ingest. "Blink your eyes three times," Sam reminded him, "when it's in the room."

Dean prepared a snarky comment, but he fell asleep before he could say it.

Sleep paralysis, as a phenomenon, sucked balls. Dean made a mental note of this for later. The paralysis was one thing, and he had prepared himself for it, but the paranoia, the pain up and down his back... it made him feel like prey. He hadn't felt that way for a very, very long time.

Then he felt it. The eyes of something nearby. He looked, but nothing was there. But he could feel it. He knew it was nearby. 'Come on you bastard,' he thought to himself. 'Show yourself.'

He felt a talon wrap around his ankle, then he saw it. Ugly like a toad and bare like a skeleton, it crept onto his chest. He couldn't help it; his eyes went wide. Then he remembered, he needed to tell Sam – 

Dean blinked three times. 

Sam tossed the vial of potion and yelled, "Sequitur ut hic et nunc!" Even though he thought whoever translated the spell could've done a better job. 

Like a ripple in water, the air around Dean's bed shifted. On top of his brother knelt a reptilian monster, choking Dean by crushing his chest. 

The little goblin was so busy and focused, it didn't even notice it had shifted planes. It didn't notice when Sam moved towards it, machete at the ready. The Mara made an oddly high-pitched squeal when Sam brought the blade down and chopped at his neck. It took to swings to decapitate the damn thing. 

Dean, however, was still unconscious. He saw Sam decapitate the Mara, heard it cry out as it lost its head, then fell out of paralysis and back into sleep. 

He sat at a card table in an old-looking building. Everything everywhere was empty.

"Dean?" 

Dean looked up. It was Bobby Singer, down to the same old base ball cap.

"Bobby? What're you doing here?"

"No," he said. "I took this form because you respect this man, and I needed to approach you as someone familiar."

"You're, what, a demon?"

"No, I am Ahanah," Bobby said. "The Baku you captured."

"Yeah, sorry 'bout that," Dean said with no apology in his voice.

"You and your brother killed the creature attacking my charges," Ahanah-as-Bobby said. "And so I have come to help you."

"Help me? How?"

"You've been having Communal Nightmares."

"Sorry?"

"A nightmare that someone has conjured for you, usually as a warning. Spirits often do this to warn those they love that danger is nearby."

"Don't you eat nightmares?"

"Baku are of the few gifted with the Sight needed to tell nightmares apart from one another, and we can clear the water for those receiving them."

"And that means what, exactly?"

"I can show you who is sending you this message, and why."

"What're you waiting for?"

"Your permission."

Dean thought about this and said, "Sure."

"Goodbye, Dean Winchester. And thank you." Ahanah-as-Bobby disappeared as this was said.

Dean opened his eyes in bed at the motel, very much awake and on earth. 

"Holy crap."

 

"Are you going to talk at all?" Sam asked. Dean had climbed into the back seat when they left Moneta. 

"No."

"Was it another nightmare?"

"Sam, this isn't about – that kind of crap, okay?"

"Then what is it about?"

"It's about Cas, okay, so will you drop it?"

Uncertain if his brother was being truthful, Sam decided to drop the topic in favor of turning up AC/DC.


	5. Soft Breeze

Charlie emphatically greeted Dean and Sam upon their arrival back at the bunker. Cas was working in the war room, setting up file folders and writing madly. 

"Dean, I wanna show you some of the stuff I set up," Charlie said, sweeping him out of the war room almost as soon as he arrived. 

Sam saw the newest file Cas had finished, labeled "Tamandriel / Samandriel."

"Cas, wasn't Tamandriel the angel that tried to kill you last month?"

"Yes."

"Wasn't Samandriel the angel that Crowley captured that we tried to rescue?"

"The one that I killed under Naomi's orders," Cas added. "Yes."

"Why are they in the same file?"

"Because they're twins."

"Twins?"

"Yes, twins."

"Uh, if angels aren't born, how can they be twins?"

Cas looked up at Sam. "I didn't think of it that way."

"Okay, then, how are they twins?"

"When God created the angels, there was one that became two. God took the first angel's grace and split it between him and his twin, joining them together uniquely and forever with a continuous bond. The first was named Tamandriel, the second Samandriel. I thought, at the very least, they should be remembered as they lived. Together."

It sounded like a bedtime story to Sam. "Is that why he attacked you? Because you were the one who killed his twin?"

"That definitely motivated him more than the others," Cas commented. "But his orders are likely from Naomi herself."

Sam sat down across from the angel. "Would you talk to Dean?"

"I usually do," the angel replied.

"No, I mean, talk to him, about whatever's going on. Because he won't tell me, and it's been weighing him down, Cas."

"I will."

"Thanks."

 

Dean couldn't really keep up with Charlie's technobabble, but he did his best. She'd set up some kind of wall of fire to slay anything over the wire or wireless internet. There were tons of other layers, which Dean hoped Sam understood, as well as new phone lines and even new phones.

"No one will be able to GPS-track you again," she said. "But, you know that can be a problem if you're screwed, so I got you this, too."

It was a tiny button. "It can send a distress signal to the bunker. I got you about dozen. Oh, and the security cameras."

"Charlie, this is awesome," he said. "I mean it, you saved our asses a hundred times over."

"It's what I do."

"I hate to ask for anything else," he said. "But, uh, I need some advice."

"Don't seem so dire," she said.

 

Charlie packed up her stuff and headed out with her usual, "Smell ya later, bitches." With an added "Thanks for the swanky healing, by the way," to Cas. 

"Goodbye Charlie," the angel said. Dean could tell by his smile that he'd grown fond of her. 

"Next time, I'm joining you on the case, you got it?" she shot at Sam. 

"'Course," he said as she left. 

Dean went up to his room right after seeing Charlie off. It felt like years since he'd really slept, and he hadn't told Sam about the messed up nightmare-commune crap. He couldn't handle the reaction. And what if it was a trick? That Baku was a real asshole, for all he knew.

No, he wasn't going to kick up dirt until he had something to go on. Something real. That meant he needed to figure out a way to talk to the messenger, if that was even possible. 

Dean sprawled out on the bed. No sooner had his head hit the pillow than Cas came in. 

"Dean?" he asked quietly. 

"Cas."

"We should talk."

"Do we have to?"

Cas sat on the edge of the bed and placed his hand on Dean's chest. "Please."

Dean took Cas's hand and looked him in the eye. "All right, Cas, talk to me."

"I'm sorry if I've been difficult lately," Cas began. "I understand you came to be with me for the last hours of your life because you wanted to be happy, not because you wanted to give up. I was just very unhappy at the idea of your death, and that didn't go away when you survived."

Dean got the uncomfortable feeling that Cas was going to bring up the worse topic possible. That they could be happy together for a little while, but in the end it'd be better for Cas to spare himself the pain and cut ties now, before they got any closer. 

"Cas..." Dean whispered, "please, don't..." He closed his eyes.

"I was being unfair to you," Cas continued. "And I'm sorry. Will you forgive me?"

Dean opened his eyes again. "Yeah, I do."

"You look tired, you should sleep," Cas commented, touching Dean's face. 

"Wait, that's all?"

"You thought there was something more?"

He gulped as he remembered Charlie's advice. "If you're managing to get around all the supernatural cross-species crap, might as well get some benefit out of it. Right? If you're having that much trouble talking, maybe you should just let'em read your thoughts. Total guy problem, be tee dubs."

"Cas, can you read my mind?"

"Not in this room," the angel replied. "And I don't do that, if that's what you're going to ask."

"But you could, if we went into another room?"

"Yes, of course, why?"

"'Cause there's just so much crap and I – " Dean stopped. "I don't even know where to start."

"You don't have to tell me everything right now, Dean," the angel comforted him. 

"I know, but I want you to know, I just... I'm having a hard time figuring out how."

"If this is what you want, then we can."

Dean got up and walked into the next bedroom, which was free of angel-mojo preventative. Cas tentatively followed.

"Dean, you don't have to do this," he said.

"Yeah, Cas, we need to do this."

Dean sat on the bare bed, unsure of what to do next. 

"Take a minute, and think about what you want to share with me," Castiel guided him. "Close your eyes, it helps."

He closed his eyes, feeling foolish until Cas joined him on the bed and wrapped his arms around him. Dean leaned his head onto his shoulder, and thought about...

...his wandering under the stars, his little prayer to God. His moment in the kitchen, trying to figure out how (metaphorically) to pick the ketchup over the mustard, and then the thought about the nightmare, the vivid, entangled moment with fake-Bobby-Baku. Everything in his head always circled back to Cas, so he thought of the fear that reared its ugly head when Cas apologized. Then the nightmare-commune broke to the surface; Dean just couldn't hold it back from his angel.

It started like the dream, in the room with the card table. When the Baku disappeared, the entire area faded, and Dean fell on his ass in the middle of Purgatory. He looked up and said, "Thanks for the warning, Snuffleupagus!"

"Dean, brother, you gotta hear me."

Dean turned his head and met the blue eyes of the vampire Benny Lafitte. His voice was different, rougher maybe, but the same drawl passed from his lips.

"Benny, is this you?" Dean asked. "You've been sending me nightmare-o-grams?"

"That's the only way the dead can ev'n try to contact the livin'," he explained. "Brother, please, ya gotta stop them."

"Stop who?" 

Benny spoke like a pre-recorded message. It occurred to Dean that maybe that's what this was.

"Dean, they're tryin' to get out. They've got all these lil' rabbit holes opened up between Hell and Purgatory, and some people, topside people, brother, they're putting leashes on reapers. They're gunna smuggle 'em outa Purgatory topside, by waterin' down the demon baggage with monster."

"Benny, how did you manage this?"

"The bloody way," he smiled. "Don't worry 'bout me brother, I'm already dead. You keep you and yours alive, ya hear me?"

"Benny – " 

But Dean was being pulled away. Purgatory shook, then darkened, then vanished, and then Dean woke – 

Dean opened his eyes. He was in Castiel's arms back at the bunker in an unmade room. 

No thunder or lighting or exploding electronics. He wasn't sure if it worked. 

"It worked," Cas rasped. 

Dean was surprised to see tears on the angel's cheek.


End file.
